


I've been loving you for quite some time

by lydiastilinskis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Endgame Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Established Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Lydia Martin Loves Stiles Stilinski, Married Lydia Martin/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Loves Lydia Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 18:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13195689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiastilinskis/pseuds/lydiastilinskis
Summary: Stiles and Lydia get into a fight and Lydia storms out of the apartment. When she finally returns, she expects Stiles to be unforgiving and irritated. But Stiles always finds a way of surprising her...





	I've been loving you for quite some time

**Author's Note:**

> This is really really short and I wish I could write more/a longer one, but I'm super busy and limited on time so I wrote this in a couple of days. I hope you like it! The title comes from Taylor Swift's song 'Stay Stay Stay'. :)

Lydia could feel her heartbeat hammering inside her chest, pulsing with rage as she slammed the door to the apartment and sprinted down the stairs.

 

She lived on the sixth floor of an apartment block in New York and it took her five minutes to reach the ground floor and burst through the heavy glass doors of the building to the outside world.

 

Once she stepped outside, she stopped abruptly.

 

She’d forgotten to bring a sweater and the hairs on her arms stood upright with the chilly, New York autumn air. The world continued around her, horns honking, pedestrians chatting loudly on the phone, to each other or to themselves. A little boy, walking beside his mother, skipped past her. He paused for just a second, enough time to look up at her and smile, before continuing on.

 

She hadn’t yet felt a desire to have children, but the little boy’s smile lifted her mood and calmed her anger for a few seconds.

 

She began walking, even though the wind had started up and whipped her cheeks as she walked. She shivered in her long-sleeved shirt and plaid skirt, wishing she’d thought to dress more seasonally appropriate.

 

Then again, she hadn’t envisioned herself storming out of the apartment at 9:30 p.m., anger and frustration coursing through her veins and propelling her forwards, encouraging her to take further steps away from the apartment. Even though all she wanted to do was go back into the apartment, into the warmth, and curl up next to Stiles.

 

But _no._ That was the problem.

 

She was _mad_ at Stiles.

 

In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever been this pissed at Stiles before. She didn’t think she’d ever been this pissed at _anybody_ before.

 

She was furious.

 

And she hadn’t picked up her phone, so she couldn’t even call any of her friends or even tweet about the situation. She _also_ hadn’t picked up her phone because she’d thrown it at Stiles at the height of their fight. He’d ducked just in time and it had sailed straight past him, but she hadn’t thought to collect it before storming out of the apartment.

 

As she walked along the streets of New York, she thought about the argument in the apartment. Her first reaction had been to leave. That was _always_ her first reaction.

 

After Jackson had left for London, she’d banished him from her mind and vowed to forget about the loser who’d never deserved her anyway. She _knew_ he hadn’t ever deserved her. But she couldn’t help but think back and understand that whenever she ran away and pushed people away, most of it stemmed from their relationship and his treatment of her.

 

After all, how many times had _he_ abandoned her? He’d abandoned her to leave for a different _continent,_ for God’s sake. And that wasn’t the only time he’d run away when things got hard.

 

Was it really any surprise that her first reaction to any difficulty in her relationships ended with her leaving? It was just easier. Wrong, but easier.

 

She knew she’d have to go back eventually. She’d have to face him. She couldn’t exactly escape him now that she lived with him.

 

She couldn’t wander the streets all night; she’d freeze to death if she did. In fact, she didn’t think she could stay outside for much longer at all. It was a true test of her stubbornness. She could go back and face the rest of the fight with Stiles, or she could stay outside and freeze half to death.

 

She almost considered the latter option.

 

Lydia stopped and turned around, heading back in the direction she’d come. The apartment felt like miles away, but she slowed her walking right down anyway. If she was out for at least an hour, when she got home Stiles would probably be asleep. He always started work at 7 a.m. and usually went to bed pretty early.

 

The anger had been so fresh when she’d left the apartment in a tornado of rage and flying technology, but it was already dimming as she thought about how she’d left Stiles in the apartment by himself.

 

She let her mind wander, thinking about what he’d been doing in the — she checked her watch — twenty-five minutes she’d been gone from the apartment. He’d probably turned off the TV, cleared up their plates from dinner and taken a shower. Had he tried calling her, only to realise that her phone was lying on the floor against the far wall? Or had he just decided to give her space and let her blow off steam?

 

Because _really,_ it was _his_ fault.

 

Maybe she’d started it.

 

No, _he’d_ started it.

 

They’d probably both started it, in all honesty.

 

It started by her innocently reading out a message from Kira.

 

 

> _Dear Stiles and Lydia. So, it’s happening! Matt asked me to marry him last night. Finally! You guys are obviously invited to the wedding, but I wanted to let you know sooner than the invites go out! I’m so excited I could burst. Lydia, I know you’ll want to see the ring, so here you go!_

 

She’d attached a photo of her engagement ring, and another one of her with her boyfriend from college, Matt. They were grinning manically in the photo, looking happier than ever. Kira had been with Matt for a few years now, and Lydia had read the message aloud, smiling.

 

“Isn’t that cute?”

 

Stiles had been watching an episode of _Property Brothers_. She was curled up next to him on the couch, her feet leaning against his thigh. A smirk had crossed his face as he looked at her, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.

 

“That’s nice,” he had commented amicably, “tell her that we’re both really happy for her. And I’m really happy that she accepted.”

 

She’d narrowed her eyes at him.

 

“What does _that_ mean?”

 

Stiles had frowned at her. “Huh?”

 

“You just said you’re happy that she _accepted.”_

 

“I _said_ …” He’d looked at her, grimacing. “Okay, I said that.”

 

“Was that supposed to be some kind of dig?”

 

“Absolutely not.”

 

“You _know_ why I said no!” Lydia had reminded him sharply.

 

Stiles had sighed, looking up at the ceiling and wincing. She knew that he knew. He’d messed up. He could have just been happy for Kira and her engagement, but instead he’d made the comment. The sarcastic comment — and _yes_ , she knew that Stiles was known for his sarcastic and at times inappropriate comments and shouldn’t have been altogether surprised — that brought back memories of the time Stiles had proposed to her one year earlier.

 

Neither of them particularly liked to think about that day.

 

“I do,” he’d agreed. “Can we drop it?”

 

“No!”

 

She’d got to her feet, leaving his leg cold where her feet had been positioned. He’d sat up straight and looked at her, worried for the first time.

 

“Lydia …”

 

“I _knew_ you weren’t okay with the proposal! I knew it!”

 

“I’ve told you, I _am_ ,” he’d said slowly. “There’s no need to get upset over it, okay? It was just a stupid comment. You know me! I make stupid comments all the time — every single day. _Multiple_ times a day. Stupid comments about stupid things.”

 

Her face had fallen. “You think it’s stupid?”

 

“Oh, Jesus. No, no, no.”

 

He’d desperately tried to repair the situation, but the damage had been done. Her emotions were all over the place. She’d had a rough week at work and she knew she was overreacting. But she’d also known that he still hadn’t forgiven her for rejecting his proposal last year and now it was obvious!

“You think it’s stupid,” she’d continued, frowning.

 

“I don’t.”

 

“You _do_!”

 

“Really? We’re really doing this?” he’d asked, rolling his eyes.

 

Rolling his eyes angered her even more. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Stiles Stilinski!”

 

That did it.

 

The worst thing was that she knew exactly how to push his buttons. _She_ was pissed and she didn’t want him to be forgiving and calm. She wanted him to be just as pissed, to be _angry_ over the fact that she’d rejected his proposal a year ago because she wasn’t ready for marriage.

 

And they’d talked it through. They’d talked it through a _lot._ She’d cried. He’d cried. He’d agreed that it was too soon — they’d only graduated college a few months earlier and were still finding their feet in New York. They could barely afford to pay their rent every month on their salaries, let alone afford a _wedding._

 

So she’d said no.

 

Because Lydia Martin was nothing but practical, logical and realistic. She wouldn’t let herself get caught up in the romance and thinking that it was the right thing to do just because she loved him more than anything. It wasn’t the right time.

 

The right _person_ , but not the right time.

 

And it wasn’t like he’d bought a ring.

 

It was Stiles, after all. He hadn’t been _that_ prepared. It had been spontaneous, while they were watching _CSI: New York_ (of course; Stiles was obsessed with it) and he’d turned to her, that look in his eye that he got whenever he was about to say something either extremely romantic or extremely dumb.

 

In this case, it was a mixture of the two.

 

“I love that you watch these shows with me even though you can’t stand them,” he’d said with a smile.

 

“Well,” she’d said, shrugging. She’d shot him a lazy smile and looped her fingers around his. “You’ve read books on linear algebra for me.”

 

“That’s not entirely true. It was just one. And I barely made it past the first chapter,” he’d confessed. She laughed.

 

“You tried, though,” she’d answered. She turned her attention back to the TV, assuming they were finished.

 

But then:

 

“I love you,” he’d told her, “and I want to marry you.”

 

She’d stared at him for a full thirty seconds, her mouth slightly open and an increasing feeling of fear and panic rising inside her, before asking him if he was serious. After he’d said yes — that strange, faraway look in his eyes again — she’d told him, painfully, _Not right now. But someday. When we can afford it._

 

She still remembered the disappointment in his face. The crushing disappointment. She still remembered it because she relived it in her dreams — or, more apt, nightmares — almost every night.

 

Amazingly, he hadn’t broken up with her. Being Stiles, he’d made some awful joke about it to remove himself from the awkward situation and brushed it off as not a big deal. Later, she’d heard him talking to Scott about it on the phone. That was when she realised that he absolutely was not okay with it.

 

The following few weeks were weird and tense between them. She wanted to tell him that she didn’t _not_ want to marry him, she just didn’t want to get married at that moment in time. They were still so young. They weren’t ready for it. It didn’t mean that she loved him any less.

 

But she’d always been worried it would turn into something more, and the few arguments they’d had about it had always ended with them awkwardly trying to forget anything had ever happened.

 

A full year on and she’d thought he was okay. He’d _forgiven_ her. Verbally, anyway. But maybe not deep down. He’d started working more and working for longer hours. Taking on more shifts than she thought was good for him. She wondered if it was because he was trying to escape the apartment, escape _her._ She knew she shouldn’t have left him like that. In the middle of the argument. She wouldn’t be surprised if he broke up with her now.

 

Why would he stay?

 

She ran away whenever things got too much. She left in the middle of fights. She’d turned down his freaking marriage proposal.

 

Every time things got kind of difficult, her instinct was to leave.

 

It was all she knew.

 

Jackson used to do it. Her father had done it.

 

Why hadn’t Stiles left yet?

 

She let herself into the apartment building and walked up to their floor. The elevator had been broken for two years now, but using the stairs kept her legs trim and meant she had an excuse not to go the gym.

 

The apartment was quiet. She walked through the apartment, noting that the plates from dinner had been cleared up. The TV was off, the light had been left on. The bedroom was dark.

 

She didn’t know whether to be relieved that Stiles was asleep.

 

On the one hand, she’d read enough relationship books to know that you shouldn’t ever go to sleep angry, or leave a fight unresolved. They’d left enough unresolved — that was why they were both so quick to _really_ argue about it.

 

On the other hand, she really didn’t want to face him.

 

She began creeping across the apartment to the bathroom when the door opened and Stiles stepped out. He was wearing plaid pyjama bottoms and a soft grey T-shirt that she’d tried to steal thousands of times, but he always managed to steal back.

 

He’d just cleaned his teeth and his hair stuck up on all ends, like he’d been running his fingers through it.

 

She stopped mid-stride and smiled awkwardly, tentatively.

 

She realised why she’d had to leave the apartment so abruptly: if she’d stayed, she would have just taken one look at his face — or listened to one of his stupid jokes — and given in. She couldn’t resist.

 

“Hi.”

 

He said, “Hey.”

 

She drank in the sight of him, sleepy and soft.

 

“We should talk,” she began, “it isn’t healthy to go to bed angry.”

 

She expected him to push past her. “I don’t feel like talking, Lydia.” That was that Jackson used to say to her after they’d bickered; _he_ never wanted to talk about it. He’d just push past her and refuse to talk, then usually slam the door in her face so she’d have to walk home alone.

 

Instead, because he was Stiles and not Jackson, he nodded. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

 

And just like that, she remembered exactly who — and what — he was.

 

He was _Stiles._

 

The one who came running whenever she screamed — even though she screamed _a lot._ The one who had saved her life countless times. The one who’d always listened to her, and always been by her side. The one who believed in her no matter what. The one who’d never left, no matter how crazy she’d felt or sounded.

 

Running wasn’t helping. Running wasn’t the solution to the problem. Running was something that might have worked — might have even been good — for Jackson. Running didn’t work with Stiles.

 

She should have known by now.

 

Stiles would stay ... unless she kept pushing him away.

 

“Don’t ever leave me,” she blurted out.

 

They were the first words that had come into her mind and she’d blurted them out without a second thought.

 

But they made him smile.

 

“I’ve loved you for so long,” she continued, stepping over to him. “And I won’t ever meet anyone like you. I won’t ever _love_ anyone like you. So please don’t ever leave me — stay with me, stay here, just _stay_.”

 

“Lydia,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “I’m just … going to bed. I’m not leaving.”

 

“But I run out on our arguments,” she replied, “and I turned down your proposal even though all I wanted to do — all I’ve wanted to do since at _least_ college — was say yes and marry you. That’s all I wanted. That’s all I want now! I want to be your wife, Stiles, I was just trying to be the realistic one.”

 

“Oh,” Stiles nodded, “I know.”

 

“You … know?”

 

“We couldn’t afford a wedding,” he said. “It was spontaneous and stupid and I didn’t think it through. All I could think about was how much I loved you — and how much I still love you, of course — and how much I wanted you to be my wife. And that hasn’t changed, but I never should have proposed to you last year.”

 

“You’re serious?”

 

“You know, Scott was thinking of proposing to Malia, my dad started dating that new cop in Beacon Hills … Everyone was so happy and I was feeling the love. But it was a mistake. I’m not mad at you for turning it down.”

 

“Things have been so weird between us!”

 

Stiles frowned, genuinely looking confused for the first time. “They have?”

 

“Maybe I convinced myself that you were mad at me, but I thought you were just looking for an excuse to leave.”

 

“No,” Stiles shook his head. “No, you know I’d never leave you. I’ve been in love with you for most of my life, Lydia, you think I’d let you go that easily? Just because you bruised my ego a little bit last year?”

 

“Well, _yeah_ , kind of.”

 

“You should know me better than that.” He ran a hand through his hair and smiled that dopey half-smile she loved so much. He stepped towards her.

 

“But I always run out and leave,” she protested, letting his arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer to him.

 

She clenched onto the soft fabric of his T-shirt, breathing in the scent of their laundry detergent. Stiles swore that it smelled just like the one his mom used to buy.

 

“Don’t get mad,” he began.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’d be careful if I were you.”

 

“I _said_ don’t get mad — there’s a preface.”

 

“Well, your _preface_ makes me think that I’m going to get mad.”

 

“I find it kind of funny when you run out,” Stiles told her, shrugging. “At least when you come back you’re usually calm. I’d rather that than you yelling at me for another hour.”

 

She smacked him playfully on his left arm. “I don’t yell at you for _that_ long. And you yell back.”

 

“Because you know exactly how to piss me off,” he reminded her, eyebrows raised.

 

She winced. “Sorry. I just wish I’d known that you were okay with … what happened last year. I wish you’d told me.”

  
“I wish you’d told me that you were worried about it still. You acted like you were fine. And I know I’m well-versed in the life and times of Lydia Martin, but sometimes you gotta give me a little help. Sometimes I still can’t quite believe that we’re actually together.”

 

Lydia rolled her eyes at him. She hated it when he said things like that — it reminded her too much of the days of her life before Stiles, Scott and Allison. The days when she’d dated assholes and had only really cared about popularity.

 

But when Stiles, Scott and Allison came into her life … things changed. _She_ changed.

 

“Me neither,” Lydia replied, smiling up at him, “you’re such a dork.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“It’s true,” she said. “High school Lydia wouldn’t be caught dead with a geek like you.”

 

“Okay, Lydia, I know you’re joking but you’re really hurting my feelings,” he said, miming getting choked up. Lydia laughed, bundling the fabric tighter in her fists so he couldn’t step away from her.

 

“You’ve been distant,” she said to him. “Working a lot. Not here as much.”

 

“I’ve been saving,” he told her, wrinkling his nose. “I was thinking we could get out of this apartment and move somewhere else. Somewhere bigger.”

 

“You’ve saved enough for a _house_?”

 

“God, no — not even a fraction,” he said, dropping his hands from her waist. “That’s what I _was_ thinking. My second idea was slightly cheaper.”

 

“Cheaper than a house?” Lydia asked, sighing. “Well, that sure narrows it down.”

 

“Stay here,” he told her, rolling his eyes at her. He disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Lydia alone in the living room.

 

“Stiles,” she called, after he’d been gone for a suspicious amount of time. “Hurry up or I’ll run away again!”

 

Stiles walked back into the apartment, laughing at her joke, carrying a black box in one hand. He walked towards her and leaned against the back of the couch, looking up at her. She looked at the black box in her hand, panic rising inside of her just like the first time.

 

But she remembered her words:

 

_I want to be your wife, Stiles._

 

She’d meant it.

 

“Stiles,” she said, slightly breathless from the excitement, “what are you doing?”

 

“I’ve been saving for this for the last year,” he told her, “after you said no last year, the only thing that it made me think was how unprepared I’d been and stupid to ask you like that. I needed a ring, I needed to wait until you were ready. I’ve been working every possible shift I could for the last year to save up for the perfect ring.”

 

“How long have you had it?”

 

“Just over a week now,” he answered, smiling, “but I wasn’t planning on asking you yet. I would have waited for another five years if I thought you weren’t ready. And I hope I’m not jumping the gun here and thinking that you _are_ ready, even if you _aren’t_ , and please don’t hesitate to say no again … Although if you do, I’m not sure my ego will recover—”

 

“Shut up and open it,” Lydia breathed, “open the box.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

He opened the velvet box and a ring balanced on the cushion inside: a diamond ring on a silver band, perfect. Just perfect.

 

“I promise to stay forever,” he said. “Will you marry me, Lydia?”

 

“Yes,” she answered. “Yes, of course. _Yes_.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

He sounded surprised. Genuinely surprised.

 

“Yes, you idiot!” She ran towards him, grasping his face in her hands and kissing him all over. She could hear his laughter as she kissed him and then he was kissing her back, just as urgently.

 

Things finally felt normal between them. Things hadn’t been _wrong_ between them like she’d thought at all. He was just trying to keep a secret, and, in true Stiles fashion, failed spectacularly.

 

She kissed him again and again until he finally pushed the diamond ring neatly onto her finger, where it would remain forever.

 

“I promise never to run out on an argument again,” she promised him, but she winced as she said it and they both knew it was an unlikely promise to to be kept.

 

Maybe it would become less frequent and she’d find that fights between them didn’t mean it was _over._ There was no reason to run away when she knew Stiles would always be there, waiting, understanding, knowing her better than anyone had ever known her.

 

Running wasn’t the answer, but for once she’d run out of the apartment during a fight. In fact, she was _glad_ they’d had that dumb argument about Kira’s engagement in the first place.

 

After all, making up was the best part.


End file.
